


could i be wrong

by plethoriall



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Felching, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22682986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plethoriall/pseuds/plethoriall
Summary: Claude doesn’t hesitate when Crosby asks if he wants to take the party back to his room, not even when MacKinnon trails along like a lost puppy.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Claude Giroux, Sidney Crosby/Nathan MacKinnon
Comments: 14
Kudos: 159





	could i be wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: one party is an unaware participant in certain kinks

The night was destined to get out of control the moment the buzzer sounded.

Once the champagne ran out and they forced themselves to change, the party continued building at the hotel. They took over one of the larger meeting rooms, kindly provided by the staff in an effort to contain them. They’re learning the hard way, there’s no containing this.

A portion of them disappeared early on to try their luck in the clubs, but enough remained for the room to be deafening, with people shouting over both the music and each other.

He figured he’d spend the night with Schenner and Coots in their own little bubble, but the magic of a team made up of people who are usually rivals winning gold together must be particularly potent tonight. He finds himself in the corner with an intoxicated Crosby instead, who won’t stop touching his arms and giving him the eyes. MacKinnon is wedged in beside them, drinking some kind of Czech alcopop that has zero chance of getting him drunk and apparently oblivious to the ‘fuck me’ vibes Crosby is broadcasting. He shoots a wink across the room to where Schenner and Coots are watching with bemusement. They know exactly what’s up.

Claude doesn’t hesitate when Crosby asks if he wants to take the party back to his room, not even when MacKinnon trails along like a lost puppy.

Which is how he ends up on top of Crosby, naked and fucking his tongue into his mouth while MacKinnon sits on the other bed and pretends to be invested in whatever’s on TLC. He’s still holding the bottle.

“Are you seriously just going to watch us?” He figures it’s worth giving one more shot, one more opportunity for MacKinnon to leave. It’s already weird, but he doesn’t care how weird it has to get if it results in him fucking Crosby.

“It’s my room too.”

“If you don’t leave, I’m going to fuck him in front of you,” he warns.

“Yeah, well I’m not leaving.” It’s stubborn as fuck, but Claude’s had this building in his veins all night and isn’t leaving as long as there’s a willing body beneath him. He’s not getting cockblocked by Nathan fucking MacKinnon.

He looks down at Crosby, who shrugs. “He shouldn’t have to leave if he doesn’t want to.”

And that apparently settles it. He’s going to really have to bring out a top-tier effort if he’s going to fuck with an audience.

“You got lube? Condoms?”

“Yeah. You clean?”

“I am.”

“Let’s skip the condom then,” Sid says and Claude can’t resist looking over at MacKinnon, who immediately averts his eyes back to the TV. He’s going to be in the same room while his childhood hero is getting rawed. This is more than Claude could have even dreamed of.

Crosby grabs the lube from the bedside table, and while it seems to be an odd place to keep it when you’re sharing a room, it might explain things. Maybe that’s why MacKinnon isn’t bothered, having had to deal with Crosby jerking it in front of him for the entire tournament. He’s probably been worn down mentally.

He doesn’t spend a long time on the prep, unwilling to let the whirlwind pace of the evening die down and the opportunity slip away. But Crosby doesn’t seem to mind, stretches to take two and then three fingers with little discomfort.

“You’ve done this before.”

“Sorry to ruin your virgin fantasy, Giroux.”

“You can call me Claude when I have my fingers in your ass.” He crooks said fingers and grins at the little huffing noise Crosby makes in response. He’s fucking good at this, and it’s satisfying to have Crosby at his mercy because of it.

“Ready for more?”

“Go for it.”

“I’m just deciding if I want to watch your face or your ass.”

Crosby rolls his eyes and gets on his stomach, pulling his hips up into the air and knees under him with a nonchalance that tells Claude that yes, he’s done this before. He’s done this a lot. The thought sends a jolt of arousal through him.

He runs his hands over Crosby’s ass, feels how high and tight it is. He wants to slap it, get it nice and pink, but he’s not sure where the boundaries are. He’s not getting this far to risk spooking him and ruining it at the last moment.

Claude inches his cock inside, slow as a reminder not to embarrass himself and blow his load early. They’re still rivals and he doesn’t want to show Crosby weakness in anything. When he’s fully seated he exhales, feels the heat and tightness around his cock before starting an unhurried rhythm. With his hands settling on Crosby’s hips, he’s in control. He focuses on the pleasure of each slide, the way he can feel the drag on the head of his cock, the way Sid’s body tries to oppose his movement.

He reaches a hand down to wrap around Crosby’s erection, giving it a few strokes before one of Crosby’s hands comes down to knock his away.

“I don’t want to come,” Crosby manages, and, fair enough. It allows Claude to use another hand to grip his body, put more force into pulling Crosby’s body to meet his.

Soon he’s producing little noises out of Crosby with every thrust, and he’s grinding his hips back to meet him. When he realizes how loud it’s gotten, he glances over at the other bed.

MacKinnon isn’t even pretending to watch the TV anymore. His eyes are fixed on them and he looks _interested_, if the tent in his jeans is anything to go by. Claude makes a show of pulling almost all the way out, pausing just long enough with his head catching the rim for Crosby to make a frustrated moan and try to push himself back onto his cock. MacKinnon doesn’t look away.

He drives forward into him and he knows he nailed his prostate by the long, low moan he feels vibrate all the way through Crosby’s body. It pushes him right to the edge.

“Gonna-“

He thrusts deep as he comes, his whole body pulsing as he empties himself into Crosby, who responds with a broken moan. He hopes it’s from feeling his come inside him, feels another little aftershock of his orgasm at the thought. Claude stills for a moment, catching his breath. When he withdraws, he puts his hand down to hold onto the condom that isn't there out of habit.

Crosby rolls over onto his back, cock still hard and resting against his stomach. But he said he didn’t want to come, so Claude can’t let himself feel guilty. He pats him on the thigh anyway, before sliding off the bed. Once he throws his clothes back on, he goes to splash water on his face in the bathroom and spend a few moments looking at himself in the mirror. Gold medal. Fucked Sidney Crosby. Not bad.

He opens the bathroom door-

MacKinnon’s laying right against Crosby, hand between his legs and pumping his fingers into him. The way Crosby’s pulled his legs to his chest and the slack-jawed expression tell him this is neither unexpected nor unwanted. MacKinnon pulls his fingers out and looks at them with interest, Claude’s come plainly visible.

He's almost breathless. “Quoi?”

MacKinnon glances up at him with a grin that inverts the entire evening in his mind. “My turn.”

“You're..” he trails off, because MacKinnon’s sliding down Crosby’s body, kissing as he goes until he nestles his face between his legs. Claude’s mind goes blank for an instant as he watches MacKinnon’s tongue dart out to lick Crosby’s hole. And just like that, he’s rooted to the spot, watching as Crosby whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut while getting eaten out. Getting Claude’s come eaten out of him. _Crisse_.

“Nate, keep- Yes, right there.” He must be over-sensitive from the way he’s twitching, flushed pink. MacKinnon is using his hands to spread his hole, get his tongue deeper. It doesn’t take long for Crosby to be biting his lip, pulling his legs even tighter to his chest before he shakes apart on MacKinnon’s tongue and fingers.

MacKinnon pulls away and Crosby is looking at him half-lidded and like he _worships_ him. Any doubt of the dynamic between the two in Claude’s head is gone.

“There you go, Sid,” MacKinnon says softly, and he’s lining up-

Claude’s seen enough. He has mixed feelings about the whole thing, but ultimately he got a fuck out of it. Plus he’ll just tell Coots and Schenner that Crosby came on his cock alone.

“You guys are fucking weird,” he mumbles and leaves them to it. He got laid, he got a gold medal, and that’s the end of that.

**Author's Note:**

> Short write for a prompt. Not beta read


End file.
